Whille we all - floating though we are, lonesome though we are,
lost in hydrogen - we five by seems things:
when things just are, then something else
will be doing the living.
Doing is not enough; being is not enough;
knowing is far from enough. So we clump around, putting
feet on the dazzle floor, awaiting the real schedule
by celebrating the dazzle schedule.
And, whatever is happening, we are here;
a lurch or a god has brought us together.
We do our jobs-listening in fear
in endless, friendless, Jesus-may-happen fashion.
Our shadows ride over the grass, your shadows, ours: -
Rich men, wise men, be our contemporaries.
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